


if a day should break in anger

by getmean



Series: you look to yours and i will look to mine [2]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Conflict, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Pining, mysterious strangers and snafu's ever-reliable Gut Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 04:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getmean/pseuds/getmean
Summary: Eugene’s bare-chested, barefoot, and Shelton wants to kiss him but finds the early morning August sun has melted him fast into the bench, and rendered him immobile. He settles for watching Eugene; the way he holds his cigarette, the cowlick at the crown of his head turning his hair wild, and the tiny swell of fat below his navel as he leans forward to scratch Sally’s ears, jeans cutting into his stomach with the movement.It’s only with Shelton’s eyes on the dog that he notices the strangers at all.





	if a day should break in anger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PinetreeVillain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinetreeVillain/gifts).



> this is a commission for @cancerousvillain over on tumblr! he wanted to see a sequel for my previous cowboy au, which i'd recommend you read just for a little backstory on snafu and gene's relationship. thank you for commissioning me, i had a lot of fun with the prompt!

Sunday morning dawns bright and hot; the sun slanting through the half-pulled curtains to lay warm across Shelton and Eugene’s sleeping bodies. Shelton comes awake in increments; the sunlight turning the world behind his eyelids red as he surrenders to wakefulness. Eugene’s arm is slung comfortably over his waist, and Shelton shuffles back into the warm curve of his body as he dozes, on and off until Sally’s nosing at his face becomes insistent.

“Hey.” He mumbles, drawing a hand from the pile of covers to press to the top of her sweet, warm head. “Hey, girl.” Eugene’s arm around his waist tightens at the sound of his voice, squeezing once before he makes a sleepy noise and rolls away to sleep on his back, arm thrown over his eyes to keep the sunlight out.

A glance at the clock shows seven a.m, and Shelton allows himself another drowsy five minutes of languishing in bed before Sally’s wet nose finds his palm again and he has to surrender himself to the day. It’s a late start anyway compared to their blue dawn starts all week, as August is winding down into September now and he and Eugene have been hard at work preparing for the burgeoning winter. Still, his muscles ache as he eases himself from bed, as quietly as possible to let Eugene catch a little more sleep. That twinge in his shoulder tells him he’s been overworking himself, and he rubs at it as he stumbles from bedroom to kitchen, Sally clattering around excitedly on the tile floors, getting underfoot until he feeds her and she goes quiet, engrossed in her bowl. 

Shelton makes enough coffee for himself and for Eugene; leaving it to warm on the plate as he backtracks into the bedroom to grab the jeans he’d discarded to the floor last night; the belt still strung through the loops rattles as he pulls them on, and Eugene stirs at the sound, popping his head up with something blearily searching in his expression.

“Mornin’.” Shelton murmurs, rounding the side of the bed so he can kiss Eugene, who still seems half asleep and out of it judging by the way he flops back onto the mattress as Shelton moves away. “Coffee in the kitchen. Sally’s fed.”

“Sure.” Eugene mumbles, voice thick with sleep. The light from the parted curtains is laid over him so gently that Shelton runs a hand through his hair just to feel the warmth of it. That dark red hair spun close to gold in the early morning sunlight. “I’ll join ya in a bit.” He breathes, eyes slipping shut again as Shelton scratches at his scalp.

“Take your time.” Shelton murmurs, and drops another kiss to Eugene’s temple before leaving him to sleep.

The kitchen tiles are blessedly cool under his bare feet as he grabs the cup of coffee he’d left on the counter; he takes a sip, sleep-slowed brain working overtime as he gazes out through the kitchen window onto the ranch beyond the house. The day is already gearing up to be a hot one; the overhead fan shifting the hot air around in the small, close kitchen. Shelton opens the window before doing the same with the back door, letting the breeze through the house before he steps out onto the porch to settle down with his coffee and a cigarette. The sun is just nudging over the brow of the distant mountains, lighting up the whole bowl of valley in one taffy slow sweep. Shelton lights a cigarette, his first of the day, and closes his eyes as he settles back into the bench he’s sat on, letting himself ease into the morning. 

Sally joins him; jumping up on the bench beside him in that way she would never do with Eugene. “You know who’s the boss around here, huh?” Shelton murmurs, slitting one eye open to watch her get comfortable, setting her big, sweet head onto his leg with a sigh.”Taking me for a fool.” He mutters, and settles back once more, enjoying the early morning sun on his bare skin before the real heat of the day sets in. 

Eugene joins him a little while later, taking the seat that Sally had vacated as soon as she’d heard him coming, and leaning into Shelton for a kiss. He moves readily, cupping Eugene’s face in his hand as he kisses him, slow and sweet. When they part, he notes the pillow creases still on Eugene’s face, and grins at him until Eugene rolls his eyes and glances away, a smile playing on his sleep-puffy face. 

“Dunno why waking up past seven is harder than waking up at the crack of dawn.” He mumbles, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. Sally has come back over and slumped down on Eugene’s feet; faithful as ever. 

“You just ain’t suited to the life of a no good _slacker_.” Shelton teases, nudging Eugene’s shoulder with his own. 

A smile curls behind the lip of Eugene’s mug as he gives Shelton a sidelong glance. “What, like you?”

“Exactly.” Shelton says with satisfaction, and slings his arm along the back of the bench just to enjoy the closeness. 

A comfortable silence settles between them; and they sit together sharing their quiet morning as they watch the sun climb over the distant peaks. Shelton loves Sunday mornings since Eugene had stopped going to church. The ritual of coffee, a smoke, and quietly waking up together on the porch was all he needed to be a very happy man. On mornings like this, it feels like he has the whole world rolled out beneath his feet. The sweeping plains surrounding the ranch; beautiful and windswept and comforting in their vastness. The West has always made Shelton feel nothing more than a pinprick amongst the prairie, and it’s exactly how he likes it. The freedom he’s afforded with this life he’s found with Eugene could never have been available to him down South, and he revels in it. Revels in the anonymity and the comfort, in the days of hard work and nights spent easing the day from his muscles. Good, clean living. 

The sun catches the lake nearby as it creeps higher into the sky, and it transforms in the sunlight. A huge silver dollar against the landscape, tossed carelessly by some giant. Shelton slouches back in his chair, chest all caught up and tight with his happiness, with the sweet, warm smell of nicotine and the warm weight of Eugene to his side. He’s bare-chested, barefoot, and Shelton wants to kiss him but finds the early morning August sun has melted him fast into the bench, and rendered him immobile. He settles for watching Eugene; the way he holds his cigarette, the cowlick at the crown of his head turning his hair wild, and the tiny swell of fat below his navel as he leans forward to scratch Sally’s ears, jeans cutting into his stomach with the movement. 

It’s only with Shelton’s eyes on the dog that he notices the strangers at all. 

She perks her head up, floppy ears pricked towards the front of the ranch, and Shelton settles his coffee mug on his stomach as he watches her. Easy to pass her distraction off as reacting to a crow or some noise, until Shelton notices her hackles are up, just as a low growl comes rumbling from her chest.

“Sally?” Eugene says, leaning forward to put his hand on her neck; she shakes him off, and with a sinking feeling Shelton follows the line of her gaze across the ranch until he finds the source of her upset.

Two men on horseback, waiting just beyond the gates of the ranch. Shelton’s stomach sinks just as Eugene notices them too; sitting up a little straighter in his seat, all that warm lethargy of a few minutes ago gone.

They don’t often get visitors at the ranch, as remote as it is, so this early morning arrival of two strangers at their gates immediately sends alarm bells ringing for Shelton, who stands, eyes squinted against the early sunlight. 

“What d’you think?” He mutters, as one of the men raises his hand in greeting; too far away to read his expression. Eugene hums, as noncommittal as always.

“Well,” He says, voice low and hesitant. “Last time someone turned up to my gates it was you.”

Eugene doesn’t need to say much more; Shelton sucks his teeth as he throws the men one last glance before he turns to head back into the relative darkness of the house for a shirt, his boots. Eugene follows, brows all pulled down like he can feel the tenseness emanating off of Shelton, who chucks him under the chin on his way back out to the porch.

“It’ll be fine.” He says, and Eugene’s brows pull down even more.

“I don’t care,” He says, and grasps at Shelton’s wrist. “You know I didn’t mean you being the last person to show up here unannounced was a bad thing, right?”

Shelton just rolls his eyes, pats Eugene on the shoulder, and grabs his hat for good measure before stepping back out into the sunlight. He knows well enough he was trouble when he’d turned up bleeding and battered to Eugene’s ranch, and that’s why he’s so eager to get out to these men alongside him. Eugene’s a soft touch, and he doesn’t intend for him to get taken for a ride. 

Eugene steps out onto the porch a moment later, and together they walk down towards the entrance of the ranch; Sally loping out ahead of them.

Shelton can feel his heart dropping lower into his stomach with every step they take towards the two men. They’ve dismounted from their horses at some point, but are no less intimidatingly _huge_ as a result. Both of them are wearing workmen’s denim and good, well worn boots, but as they grow nearer Shelton can’t help noticing the patching on their clothes; the wear and tear of the road. He recognises it well, as often a night for him was spent hunched near a small fire, mending the tears and worn patches in his clothes that riding and sleeping rough brought with it. 

“Mornin’, fellas.” Eugene greets them, and Shelton keeps his mouth shut, folding his arms over his chest as he trails just a step behind Eugene. He doesn’t miss the way the two men’s gazes sweep over him, sizing him up. He sticks his chin out, straightening up a little as if that would make him seem any taller. “How can I help ya?”

The one who is obviously the man in charge sticks his hand out; big and rough, calloused from the reins, and Shelton feels his lip curl as Eugene readily shakes it. There’s something about these men which is setting off all his warning signals, and he stands by Eugene’s side, silent and bristling as they exchange names; Jacob and Samuel, respectively, and Shelton decides he doesn’t like the way the littler one is eyeballing him. He likes the big, shiny revolvers on their hips even less.

“We’re lookin’ for a little seasonal work.” The bigger one says, his eyes small and dark and set deep in his face, flicking between Eugene and Shelton like he’s turning something over in his mind. Jacob, possibly. He’s got the ghost of an Eastern twang to his voice, which inches Shelton even further into the realm of _suspicious_. “Folks up in town said you run this ranch out here all by yourself. Figured we could help each other out.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “The boy and I wanna earn a little extra money to help us on to California.”

Shelton watches as Eugene smiles politely, stomach sinking as he asks, “You got experience with ranching?” If Shelton could kick him, he would. Instead he turns away to find the other one - Samuel - eyeballing him. Shelton bares his teeth, and he turns away with brows raised. It’s enough to catch a glimpse of a knife strapped to the back of his belt; a big, wicked looking thing. Shelton can feel his anxiety ramping up by the second. Worse, Eugene is actually hearing them out.

Jacob rattles off a long list of his apparent ranching experience, while Shelton stews silently by Eugene’s side. He can feel himself getting wound tighter and more tense by the second, as Eugene shows no sign of picking up on the same bad gut feeling he’s got about these men. In the end, Eugene agrees to take them on for a couple weeks, and Shelton stalks back to the house in silence before he can butt in with exactly what _he_ thinks they should be doing, which starts with _fucking_ and ends with _off_. 

Eugene doesn’t join him for the rest of the morning; their precious few free hours lost to showing the men around the land, and filling them in on the cattle rotations, the herd health, anything and everything that isn’t spending time with Shelton. He’s sore about it; they don’t get a lot of time together that isn’t spent on horseback, or surrounded by cattle, working the vegetable garden, or so dead tired after a long day of work that all they can do is smoke a few cigarettes in silence with a tot of whiskey each before retiring to bed for the night. He’s even more sore about Eugene taking those men on without consulting him. The feeling spins him loose to the house, rattling around the four walls without even Sally to cheer him up, traitorous dog that she is. The whole situation makes him feel less than, like a hanger on, somebody Eugene is allowing to stay at the ranch and put a lot of blood sweat and tears in, but isn’t allowed any say on shit. The resentment is burning an angry little hole in the middle of his chest, right next to the overwhelming feeling of paranoia about these men that has him glancing out of the window every two seconds.

After an hour, he gives up. Saddles up the very same horse he’d shown up to Eugene’s ranch on, and goes for a ride to clear his head. It feels wrong to leave Eugene alone with the strangers he’d invited into their space, but that burning hot resentment in his blood dulls that wrongness enough that he can ignore it, for a time. Lets him lose himself to the wide open country, the sky so big and blue above his head he’s sure it could swallow him up. Shelton sits, fetched up against a crop of old dried out trees, and lets the horse take the shade. The sun is searing a brand to the nape of his neck, between collar and the brim of his hat, and it feels right, feels like his anger rising to the surface of his skin. And then that anger ebbs, and dies, and turns him and the horse back in the direction of the ranch, worry making him dig his heels into the horse’s sides as his mind flashes through every single thing that could have happened while he was out playing a fool and stewing under some dying tree.

The ranch is unchanged when he comes thundering back through the gate; no trace of Gene or the two men to be seen. Shelton isn’t sure whether that’s comforting or not, and makes quick work of settling the horse back in his paddock before heading for the house. It’s that perfect time of the day, the sun low in the sky, the cicadas beginning to emerge to scream away as the evening descends golden and just marginally cooler than the high heat of the day Shelton had set out in. The time of day Shelton likes to spend with a cold beer, and Eugene’s head in his lap; laid out on the porch as they unwind. Something tells him that he won’t be getting that this evening. 

The kitchen is always the first place in the house to go dark, once the sun starts sinking low in the sky. Those big, East facing windows that flood the room with light in the morning transform into huge mirrors in the evening time when the lights inside are switched on. Shelton steps into the dimly lit room, eyes darting first to his own reflection in the window (wide-eyed, jaw tight) and then to the shape of Eugene, hunched at the kitchen table. Sally is sat at his feet, and her tail slowly beats against the floor at the sight of him.

“Hey, girl.” He murmurs, squatting down to let her come to him, and giving her head a kiss when she does, wiggling in excitement. Eugene stays silent; though when Shelton glances up he’s shifted, turned away from the table so he can watch Shelton and the dog. “Gene.” He adds, gruffly, suddenly embarrassed for pulling a disappearing act on him.

“Where’d you get to?” He asks, after a pregnant pause. Shelton stays kneeled on the ground next to the dog; his eyes on his hands as he scratches through her fur. 

“Needed some space.” He mutters, and glances up just in time to see Eugene cast his eyes heavenward. “You know how I get.”

“Angry.” It’s not a question. Shelton tips his chin up, and shrugs, defiance leeching into him with Eugene’s tone. 

“You don’t think it was justified?” He asks, and gestures to the flat looking glass that is their kitchen window. “That I got mad you went over my head and let some strangers stay?” The sun is sinking rapidly, now, in that late-summer way it has. The sky outside is streaked through in colours of red and orange, and Shelton thinks suddenly of how lit up they must in here; the lights of the room the only ones around for miles, once the sun beds down behind the mountains. Shelton stands, and draws the curtains, feeling antsy and watched. 

Eugene watches him move, something uncharacteristically hard in his normally soft brown eyes. “It’s my ranch.” He says, those dreaded words. “And you’re paranoid.”

“Where are they?” Shelton asks, unable to stop himself from moving now he’s gotten up. He paces to the refrigerator and opens it hard, sending the bottles in the door rattling. A beer? He grabs one, barely even wanting it but needing something to do with his hands. 

“I let them pitch up ‘round back.” Eugene says, watching as Shelton stalks around the kitchen, coming up with a bottle opener, a pack of smokes. “I think they seem fine, Mer. You barely got a chance to talk to ‘em.”

“That’s not the point.” Shelton snaps, and Eugene’s eyes narrow. He knows Shelton too well to not know that he’s lying, but Shelton barrels on, that hot ball of anger forming in his chest once more. “I just wish you’d talked to me about it before you let them stay!”

Eugene’s voice is hard when he speaks. “They’ll be here at month at most. We need the help; how many nights have we sat out there after a long day of work and wished we had an extra pair of hands?” Shelton sneers at him. 

“What, they’ll be travelling to the West Coast in _October_?” He scoffs, and turns away to lean his hip against the counter, taking a pull on his beer just for something to do. “They’ll be here all winter, and we don’t have the space or the resources for two more people when it hits.”

Eugene rolls his eyes, as seemingly done with this conversation as he can be. Shelton, meanwhile, is only just getting started. “Maybe I just wanna trust that everybody ain’t out to get me.” He cuts his eyes away, out to that flat expanse of dark glass. “Maybe I just wanna believe in people’s better sides. Is that such a fuckin’ problem?”

“No, I-”

“Maybe _you’re_ just too busy being paranoid to see the bigger picture.” Eugene butts in, and Sally is looking between the two of them now in alarm. Shelton isn’t sure he and Eugene have ever fought like this, not since his lie had been uncovered that long time ago. 

“No,” Shelton repeats, as calm as he can without his voice shaking. “I come from their world, Gene. Can see it clear as day on them; they can’t have good intentions.” He shrugs, helplessly, fixing Eugene with a look he hopes conveys the true, deep down gut feeling he had had that morning as those men had sized him up. It was hard to put into words, hard to communicate, as terrible as Shelton knows he is with words. “You’ve just gotta trust me.”

“You didn’t have bad intentions.” Eugene mutters, and Shelton grimaces, turning on his heel to pace back across the room to grab for his abandoned beer. Realistically, he had nothing to counter that, because it was true. To call these strangers’ intentions into question was only putting himself under the same scrutiny, and Shelton isn’t sure if Eugene would find anything to his liking if he did take a magnifying glass to Shelton’s past. The silence between them stretches with no sign of Shelton having anything to say back to that, so Eugene sighs, and rises from his seat; crossing to the fridge to grab his own beer. “Besides,” He says, and slams the door shut. The twist-off clatters into the sink, and he takes a long drink of his beer. “If I turned ‘em away I’d have to explain why _you’re_ here.” He raises his brows at Shelton. “Imagine the eyes that’d put on us. Far more than just two hungry men, Merriell.”

“People wouldn’t care.” Shelton mutters, accepting Eugene’s hand curling around his waist. A kiss follows, pressed to his cheek, apologetic. Their anger has blown through, leaving only tumbleweeds of nerves in its wake. Shelton doesn’t like the implication that Eugene felt at all pressured into letting the men stay, just for the sake of staving off small-town gossip. “’S not their business to assume shit.”

Eugene laughs, at that, and shoots Shelton a bemused look. “Do you even understand how people around here work?”

————

Weeks pass, in which Eugene and Shelton sleep in different rooms for the sake of keeping up appearances, and Shelton finds himself growing more unsettled and hyper-vigilant by the day. It doesn’t help that he’s had no time with Eugene since these men had decided to show up out of the blue, that he’s back to sleeping alone; fitful and disturbed, that heavy feeling of being _watched_ always hanging over him.

He spends plenty of nights lying awake with his ears pricked for any sounds of trouble, nerves too close to the surface as he opens his senses up. But all he hears is the nighttime sounds of the summer prairie; the distant lowing of the cattle, and the creaking of the old house as it settles on its foundations. 

“You’ve spent so much of your life on guard and suspicious of everyone,” Eugene murmurs, one sunny morning over a cup of coffee on the porch. He touches Shelton’s cheek, gentle. “Maybe it’s time to let your guard down. It’s safe here.”

No matter how much Shelton wants to believe Eugene, he can’t. A moment later the big one - Jacob - rounds the corner of the house, and Eugene drops his hand like he’s been burnt. Shelton doesn’t miss the way Jacob’s gaze lingers on the two of them, just as Jacob makes sure to let him see.

Eugene gets up to make him and his partner coffee, then, and Shelton excuses himself to go grit his teeth at himself in the bathroom mirror and try and scrub that feeling of surveillance from his skin. 

“Well, if they’re good to me, and they do the things I ask of them, then what’s the problem?” Eugene asks, as Shelton aggressively fries up bacon in the pan at the stove. “And look at us, eating breakfast together at a _table_. You’ve gotta admit the workload has lightened up since they started here.”

“That ain’t the attitude to have.” Shelton mutters, pressing a thick cut slice of bread into the remaining bacon fat. At elbow, a couple eggs sizzle away, sunny side up. “One day they’ll wrong ya, and then it won’t matter how many fuckin’ hours you saved on horseback because they were takin’ on the work.”

Breakfast has been a tense affair between them since they started sleeping apart. Shelton has never thought of himself as a needy person, but the distance is testing his patience. He plates up their breakfast, sliding it onto the table before turning to drop a little bacon fat into Sally’s waiting mouth. He’s been feeling tense, and oddly neglected, and he knows it shows which makes it even worse. 

“You’re so set on them provin’ me wrong it’s almost like you want it.” Eugene mutters around a mouthful of bread, and Shelton glowers at him.

“Don’t say that.”

Eugene shrugs, and glances away. The two of them eat their breakfast in silence; Shelton wolfing his down so he can clatter his plate into the sink and escape the tense air of the room and trade it for the heat of the plains, the high cool breeze up on horseback. It’s easier to lose himself in work than to let himself stew in the intricacies of his anger, and so Shelton runs himself ragged for a few weeks more as the summer begins to wind down into those warm, early days of Fall. He works more alone than he does with Eugene, let alone those two men have so shattered his peaceful, easy way of life out here. Mornings alone to afternoons alone, watching the sun hang low and red in the sky on horseback, nothing but him and the horse and the wind whipping through the dry grass. The cattle go about their lives with that disinterested stupidity that Shelton is so jealous of; that true lack of awareness of anything but the grass under their noses and the hot sun on their backs. Shelton loses a lot of time to watching them; letting the sounds of the prairie whip away the paranoia and the discomfort of home. Silence, but not. Silence, broken by the lowing of the cows, the beat of hooves on dry, packed dirt and the rattle of spurs. Of the low, distant noise of a hawk’s cry. 

It’s his place to go to miss Eugene. To miss sleeping with him, showering with him. Evening walks with the dog as they share a cigarette and trade stories. He misses their easy, silent communication that comes so naturally to him. Never good with words, but Eugene picks up the intricacies of his soundless, speechless language better than the words Shelton attempts to force out. It’s becoming more and more like they’ve lost track of their shorthand, ever since tensions had risen and settled between them. Fighting more, with no time or place or privacy to make up properly, and so the resentment simmers right below the surface. Shelton feels disconnected and cut loose, an unwelcome visitor right alongside those good for nothing strangers. The wind rises up, sending the dry dirt moving across the bare land like water. Shelton watches it for a moment, before turning his horse towards home. 

—————

The long, slow summer draws out long into the middle of September; humid and hot and frustrating. Shelton finds himself quicker to snap in the heat, and finds Eugene is even quicker to latch onto whatever thing he’d thrown his way. They argue more; they make up less. Eugene presses a kiss to Shelton’s forehead one evening, right in the sight of the big kitchen windows, but Shelton is so touch starved and so insecure by their distance that all he can do is sag closer to the strong line of Eugene’s body.

“I miss you.” He murmurs, feeling exhausted and achy down to his marrow. Beyond the work, though the work is hard as ever and getting harder as they turn their sights to Fall. “I dunno how much longer of this I can take.”

The scrutiny. That feeling of being watched. It’s ants under Shelton’s skin.

“I know.” Eugene murmurs, soft and low into Shelton’s hair, and his hands squeeze once around his biceps before Eugene releases him. “They’ve been asking me about you.”

“Bad?”

Eugene shrugs a shoulder. “Just, curious, maybe.”

“What kinda stuff?” Shelton asks, grasping hold of Eugene’s wrist as he turns to move away. They’re stood at the kitchen counter, the stew Shelton has been cooking all day rapidly cooling in their bowls behind him. Sally sniffs at their feet, eyes on the floor as she waits for scraps.

Eugene tilts his head, mouth pulling to the side as he considers Shelton’s question. “A lotta stuff.” He settles on, finally, and when Shelton gestures at him to continue, he adds, “I don’t know. Why you got a room in the house. Why we eat together, how long you’ve been working for me, all that. Just leadin’ question after leadin’ question.” He glances away, jaw set. “I can tell they suspect somethin’; they only quit when you show up.”

Shelton’s blood has run cold; that leaden ball of dread inside him sinking in his stomach. “Stop talking to them, okay?” He tightens his hold on Eugene’s wrist as he rolls his eyes, making moves again to grab his dinner and turn away from the conversation. “Gene, I mean it. Stop answerin’, see what they do.”

“Fine.” Eugene mutters, and Shelton finally lets him go, anxiety and paranoia a live wire under his skin.

———

Eugene, true to his word, stops entertaining the men. For a week, an odd energy hangs over the ranch. It’s there in their interactions with the two, in the way they watch Eugene and Shelton like hawks when they’re working together. Like something’s brewing; the air tight and tense with something close to anticipation. Eugene continues to bring them coffee out to their tents in the mornings, Shelton continues to keep a close eye on them, and they continue to ask questions.

When questioning Eugene stops working, they move onto Shelton; and he doesn’t take it even half as well as Eugene had.

They’re branding cattle in the barn when it happens; a long, hot afternoon of work that Shelton always hates, made by worse by the proximity to Jacob and Samuel. The smell of burning hair always gets right up his nostrils until it’s the only thing he can smell all week, and Shelton is antsy and irritable in the heat, with the presence of them both. It isn’t often that he finds himself alone with them, but when he does he’s on high alert; even more so now he knows about their incessant questions. 

The barn air is muggy with the lingering mid-September heat, the air shimmering above the brasier of coals the brand is heating up in, only adding to the maddening heat inside. And it stinks; manure, sweat, the smell of the cattle and of their fear. Shelton is stripped to his undershirt, great rings of sweat already growing in the light fabric, and his companions aren’t faring any worse. The kind of heat that leaves you quick to anger, high strung and uncomfortable. Shelton slaps at a fly on his arm, and then the cattle shuffle anxiously as Samuel unlocks their paddock to bring one over to where Shelton is turning the brand over in the coals.

“Get ‘em quick.” Samuel mutters to him, and Shelton just sneers. 

“I know how to brand a goddamn cow.” He snaps back, and demonstrates. The air fills with the smell of burning hair, burning skin, and Shelton covers his nose and mouth at the stink. 

He feels beaten thin by the tension of the past month and a half. All worn down by his paranoia and his suspicion, by the sleeping alone and not being able to just _be_. Each day that passes has him winding tighter and tighter, and he’s been biting his tongue in a half-hearted attempt to feign indifference about what Eugene gets up to, but he feels like he’s getting to the very end of his rope, and fast. It’s difficult to even remain near-civil, any more. Even the side of the two men is enough to have him clenching his jaw, that resentment he had first felt for Eugene now settled firmly on the two of them. 

“You always brand the cows for Eugene?” Jacob asks him, eyes dark and in his pink, wind-beaten face. Shelton doesn’t respond, crossing his arms warily across his chest as he flicks his gaze between the two of them. Jacob is obviously waiting for an answer; thumbs tucked in the front of his jeans as he regards Shelton, who eventually inclines his head, mistrust undoubtedly rolling off him in waves. Jacob’s mouth widens in a grin, and his eyes flick to his partner as he laughs, and says, “Guess you were right, Sam.”

Shelton grits his teeth. He knows the man is trying to get a rise out of him: it’s what he’s apparently been doing to Eugene for weeks after all. But Shelton doesn’t have Eugene’s resolve, and faster than he can think he finds himself snapping, “And what do you mean by that?”

Silence drops between the three men. Jacob sneers, and takes a very deliberate step forward. Shelton’s head is pounding with the heat of the barn; sweat coming off him in rivers, but he squares up all the same, tipping his chin up defiantly. “We’re sayin’,” Jacob murmurs, taking another step forward until the tips of his boots are barely inches from Shelton’s. “It just ain’t a surprise that outta couple’a fairies one of ‘em can’t handle real men’s work.”

For a second, everything is still. Shelton doesn’t move, staring up into that man’s ugly, weathered face as his ears ring with shock. Cold, icy shock. He doesn’t know why it’s his first reaction, because God knows it isn’t the worst thing he’s been called by far, but something sticks him to his spot. Then Samuel sniggers; an detestable, stupid noise, and the anger thaws Shelton as quick as the shock had frozen him, and sends his fist flying for Jacob’s grinning, unsuspecting mouth. It connects with a burst of pain in his hand; knuckles against teeth against blood against spit. Jacob _howls_ , and Shelton hops back, vindicated, his hackles up as he spins around to keep eyes on Samuel as Jacob groans into his cupped hands. His small, dark eyes flash angrily above the mess of blood that is his lower face, and his snarl is red when he drags his hands away and advances. Shelton takes another step back, hands clenched and ready at his sides as he sizes the two of them up. He’s fought men bigger than him before, it’s no sweat; he knows he’s fast and he knows he’s a better fighter, but the idea of two of them has his gut clenching with nervous anticipation. 

Samuel lunges at him, and the next few minutes compress into no more than several disjointed snapshots of feeling. The rasp of dry dirt under his boots as he ducks a fist only to find one coming for his stomach, knocking him back as he skids in the packed soil floor of the barn, winded. Sweat rolling down his back, the smell of blood and coals and Jacob’s foul breath as he grabs at Shelton. The dull shockwave of pain reverberating from his knuckles all the way up to his trick shoulder as his fist connects once, twice, until Samuel is yelping in pain and he finds himself suddenly airborne; being tugged up and off him by Jacob, squeezing the breath from his lungs before Shelton kicks a foot back, blindly, desperately, sweat in his eyes and in his mouth, and is rewarded by the ground rushing up to greet him as Jacob drops him; Shelton’s foot having connected solidly with his groin. 

He spits; blood an iron tang in his mouth. In the back of his mind Shelton realises he’s a little out of his depth, but the anxiety and the anger of the last few weeks is burning inside of him with no place to go but _out_ , and all he can do is take it out on these men. And there’s no reprieve. The minute Shelton fends off one, another is there to take his place. It feels like a funhouse, like some kind of trick, and Shelton is panting in the maddening heat; undershirt soaked to his skin with sweat. One of them; Jacob, Samuel, their spook house doubles, had bloodied his nose with a very well-aimed blow to the face, and the collar of his singlet is covered in blood, the stuff soaking into the sweat and fanning it further. It’s hard to breathe through the blood. Shelton snorts, and spits again, swaying on his feet a little as he wipes sweat from his stinging eyes. Absently, he hopes Eugene doesn’t see.

“Get him.” Shelton hears one of them murmur, and can’t react in time before Samuel throws him against the metal grate of the cattle pen; sending the animals scrambling anxiously away. All the breath is forced from Shelton’s lungs as he takes the impact, leaving him gasping with barely enough foresight to duck and scramble away as Samuel pulls a fist back to punch him, face twisted in an ugly, angry mask. 

The heel of Shelton’s boot catches at the leg of the burner that the brand is resting in; sending ashes and coals down the back of his legs as he moves. The brand clatters in the metal brasier, and Shelton scrambles back again, wobbly on his feet, mind oddly blank. All he knows is that he needs to get _away_ , that he’s finally bitten off more than he can chew as he watches in blank horror as Jacob grabs at the branding iron with something perversely amused in his expression. He stumbles, legs not working together with his mind as he sucks on a lungful of hot, humid air, but he’s so battered and bruised by now that all it takes is one more blow from Samuel to put him on his ass. It hurts, dimly, beyond the pain in his nose and jaw but Jacob is advancing with that terrible red-hot brand in his fist and Shelton is so close to being out from under the doorway to the barn, and-

The sound of a shotgun. The _crack_ of a bullet shattering the sky, and the three of them freeze, as equally stunned by the sudden noise. Then the sound of it re-loading, and Shelton’s brain finally kicks back in and he scrambles to his feet to put some distance between him and the men; breathing hard through his mouth as he watches them warily. Spits blood on the ground, and turns to look toward the sound of the noise after he makes sure they’re both not going to go for him as soon as he looks away. What he sees makes his mouth stretch in a painful, inexplicable grin.

Eugene, stood a few yards away with his father’s old shotgun in his hands, aimed right at the men behind Shelton. It explains how quickly they had frozen, how they were keeping their eyes on Eugene as though he was the only thing around for miles. Shelton knows that Eugene isn’t a great shot, but _they_ don’t, and they’re rooted to the spot staring down the barrel.

Very deliberately, Eugene cocks the shotgun. His eyes are hard as flint under the brim of his hat. Shelton has never been so relieved to see Eugene looking so angry; he almost feels dizzy with it. “Get off my property.” He calls, his tone as sharp and cold as his gaze, and takes a slow step forward. The barrel of the shotgun stays steady. Shelton knows Eugene must be shuddering with nerves, inside. “Go on.” He adds, as the men linger. Shelton catches a moment of consideration on their faces as he glances back over his shoulder, but he’d laid a few good hits on them himself and Shelton can practically see them weighing up whether they’d come out on top in a fight. 

Eugene takes another step forward, and Jacob’s adam’s apple bobs, some seemingly silent cue for Samuel; as one they turn heel and beat it, out the wide open back doors of the barn leading down to the stables. The adrenaline is still coursing through Shelton, and it’s only when he hears the beat of horses hooves moving further away from them does he allow himself to go limp. He barely catches himself on the splintering doors of the barn, and then Eugene is rushing up to greet him and bundling him into his chest, less a hug and more of a _strangle_ as he squeezes him, hard.

“Quit it.” Shelton mumbles, ribs protesting the rough treatment, and Eugene releases him with an apologetic noise, hands still gripping hard to his biceps. “I’m fine.” He adds, as Eugene’s gaze flicks over him. 

His brow wrinkles. “You are _covered_ in blood.”

Shelton spits, and sniffs. “Yes, I am.”

Eugene gathers him close into a hug once again, and Shelton surrenders to it this time, going limp in Eugene’s arms as he breathes in the familiar smell of his skin. He’s breathing fast; short, panicked little breaths, and it’s only when Shelton smoothes a sore hand over his back does he calm, a little.

“Lets get you inside.” He mumbles, stepping back a little as he raises a cautious hand to Shelton’s cheek. His eyes are very big and dark in his face; his cheeks two flushed points of colour against his pale skin. “Your poor face.”

“You’re white as a sheet.” Shelton murmurs, shying away from Eugene’s touch. The pain is beginning to set in, now, as the adrenaline begins to ebb. Shelton feels strongly that if he doesn’t get a nice neat measure of whiskey and a cigarette in him soon, he might lay down on the dirt ground and never get back up. “C’mon.” 

They stumble their way back up the short dirt track to the house, and Eugene strips off Shelton’s ruined singlet before sitting him down at the kitchen table. He gets his whiskey, _and_ his cigarette; puffing away happily as Eugene frets around with a bowl of warm water, that old medical box from under the sink.

“I’m gettin’ a little deja vu.” Shelton quips half-heartedly, wincing as Eugene dabs at his split lip with a cloth. Eugene ignores him, brows pulled together in that concerned expression his face seems frozen into now.

“What were you _thinking_?” 

Shelton shrugs one shoulder, feeling blissfully out of it as he takes a sip of whiskey as Eugene turns away to rinse his cloth. The water in the bowl is cloudy with blood. “I can take a lotta shit thrown my way.” He says, and the whiskey burns his lip as he takes another drink. “But I ain’t gonna have that same kinda tolerance when people start runnin’ their mouths about the people I care about.” His gaze slides to Eugene, who’s looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “What?”

Eugene refocuses, and shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the medical kit. “Nothin’.” He mutters, and sucks his teeth. Brown eyes flick up to meet Shelton’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Despite himself, Shelton laughs. It hurts; pulling at his split lip, at his sore nose. Making every ache and pain wake back up as he clutches at his side, grinning. “I told you.” He says, and laughs harder when Eugene rolls his eyes, ears pink. “I told you!”

“Okay,” He says, quietly, sitting back in the chair he’d pulled up to Shelton’s side. “You told me.” The grin drops from Shelton’s face, and he watches as Eugene casts his eyes to ground as though shamefaced. “And I acted a superior ass and ignored you.”

A beat of silence follows Eugene’s words. The ceiling fan beats above them, ruffling Eugene’s hair and stirring all the warm air around. Shelton’s mind feels so empty from his exhaustion that he fumbles, doesn’t respond quickly enough, and so Eugene is already turning away to dip his cloth in the water again as he blurts, “Gene, I don’t give a shit.” It’s clumsy, but Shelton’s head has been knocked around a little too much for him to be completely eloquent. Besides, he needs time for him and Eugene to build up their old shorthand again. He touches his fingers to Eugene’s wrist, feels the pulse fluttering away under the skin. “I started the fight. I’d do it again.” Eugene turns his gaze on him, and Shelton has to hide his expression behind his glass for a second just to re-orient. If he thinks for even a second about what those men had said about Eugene, he feels again just that fledgeling of the burning creature in his chest that had so badly needed out. He knows he’d do anything to keep Eugene from that ugliness. “Do you believe me?”

Again, Eugene’s hand hovers just over the battered mess that Shelton knows his face probably is, something hesitant and unsure in his expression. Shelton grasps at Eugene’s wrist, and gingerly presses his palm to his aching jaw. The pain is worth it for the way Eugene’s eyes soften, that hurtful little crease between his brows smoothing out, for now. Shelton lets him hold him, lets Eugene feel the swelling and the bruising. _For you_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t know how to. _Anything, for you._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! 
> 
> title from danger and dread by brown bird


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